


Burn It Down

by butyoumight



Category: Kamen Rider Gaim
Genre: Contest Entry, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 05:20:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2297981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butyoumight/pseuds/butyoumight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>We're building it up to break it back down, we're building it up to burn it down. We can't wait to burn it to the ground...</i> | Ryouma had known from the day they met that Takatora was the only one who could rule.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burn It Down

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Paranoid_Affections](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paranoid_Affections/gifts).



> Written for [Kazuraba-Kouta’s End of Gaim Tokusatsu Songfic Challenge](http://kazuraba-kouta.tumblr.com/post/96067331422/kazuraba-koutas-end-of-gaim-tokusatsu-songfic)!
> 
> The song used for ~~lyrics,~~ summary, and title is [Burn It Down by Linkin Park](http://youtu.be/zgEKLhvCCVA).
> 
> ETA 9/17/2014: In accordance with OTW/AO3's Terms of Service, I have removed the lyrics from the body of the work. For more information, feel free to contact me.

 

Takatora leaned against the stone wall- head down, panting heavily. His uniform jacket was missing a sleeve and there was a shallow cut on his arm where it had been torn away. It was bleeding still, even though they’d run some time after the altercation- they’d had to, because they had no way to defend themselves.

Logically, Ryouma could see how this was his fault. Of course, _someone_ had to test the stability of the Crack they’d used the shrine tree to open. But he could see the sense in how it wasn’t necessarily supposed to be _him_. 

Really, he should have thought it through ahead of time. Everyone seemed to assume that Ryouma ran _every_ conceivable scenario ahead of time. Takatora’s father still treated him like he was a machine more than anything else, so it was only to be expected that he was treated that way by the rest of the company as well. What was he there for, after all, if not his mind and talents? But he had also learned by the time he was thirteen that if he over-analyzed everything, he’d only ever be disappointed when humanity inevitably threw all logic out the window. So he didn’t necessarily think things through as well as he possibly should, a mind like his and all. 

“Are you alright?” Takatora’s words dragged Ryouma forcibly out of his mind- he had that effect on him, in a way that no one else did. No one else Ryouma had ever met in his life. And he’d been a lot of places, and met a lot of people. Being a prodigy got a lot of attention, not necessarily all well deserved, or well desired. 

“Ryouma!” Takatora had to call again, and Ryouma shook his head- not in answer to Takatora’s earlier question, but merely to focus and center himself. 

“I’m fine.” He pauses, then clarifies- “I wasn’t injured.” He pauses again and steps closer to Takatora, turning all of his focus onto the cut on his arm. He was a detail oriented person, having something specific to focus on held his attention- and he needed that right now, or he might do something else drastic and extremely stupid. “You were. We should probably wrap it.” 

Takatora frowned, and looked down at his arm. “This is nothing. Are you sure you’re not hurt?” He moved away from the wall, stepping closer to Ryouma and reaching out to grasp his shoulder.

“I’m positive.” Ryouma assured him, looking down. 

Takatora moved his hand away, leaving a partial handprint in both blood and dirt on the white fabric. He leaned against the wall again, but closer to Ryouma this time. He was always particularly cautious around Ryouma. As though he felt he had to protect him- though that was probably in fact something that his father expected him to do. 

It didn’t bother Ryouma. Whatever kept Takatora focused on the task at hand, the inevitable future, and most importantly, his unavoidable place in it. 

“Ryouma, what were you thinking? You could have been killed.” He looked up, meeting Ryouma’s eyes with a heavy weighted gaze. “You’re too important to put yourself in these positions. Please be more careful.” 

Ryouma nodded in agreement, smiling slightly. “Thank you, Takatora. I will keep that in mind.”

Ryouma had known since he met him. Takatora was magnetic, he was impressive. He had an aura about him that made people want to trust him- even Ryouma, who trusted no one. They were sixteen when they met, and Ryouma had already known that he was meeting the future god of a new world. 

“Anyway, I can’t believe we’re lost.” Ryouma sighed, stepping out into the clearing and smacking one of the fruit-bearing vines away in a fit of pique. He glanced back to see that Takatora was smirking at him, and it made Ryouma feel immediately sheepish and…

Not stupid, of course, Ryouma wasn’t even entirely sure how to fathom the concept of being less intelligent than he was, or honestly, had ever been. But Takatora did have a way of making him reconsider his words, and retrospectively examine his actions. And with that slight little smirk, and a scrub of his hand through his hair, Takatora was doing it now. 

“You have a piece of leaf in your hair.” Ryouma pointed out, because Takatora didn’t seem terribly inclined to elaborate on his stupid facial expression. He reached up and pulled the leaf down, wagging it in front of Takatora’s nose before tossing it aside. 

“We’re lost because of your failing to recognize your importance to the project. You allow yourself to get caught up in your studies and your hypotheses, you put yourself in very precarious positions to collect data. We have other employees for things like that, Ryouma, and yet here you were, wandering around Helheim with no protection.”

“You’re right.” Ryouma allowed with a sigh. “I should be more mindful of-” He paused, holding up one hand. 

Takatora didn’t question him- he’d already learned that if Ryouma wasn’t finishing a verbalized thought, he had a good reason for needing the silence. 

“There,” Ryouma turned around and pointed. Between the branches, the beginnings of a Crack opening were just becoming visible. Ryouma turned, and grinned at Takatora. “Our door home.” 

Takatora gave him another, slightly less patronizing, grin, and made a sweeping gesture. “After you, then, Professor.” 

Ryouma would have rather Takatora go first- Takatora was infinitely more important than Ryouma, at least from Ryouma’s perspective. Not that he’d explained that to him, not yet. They weren’t ready- Ryouma had to be sure. There was so much more research still to do. He had theories, but theories were nothing more than bedtime stories without proof, evidence, realistic reason to believe. Ryouma _wanted_ to believe in the mythic Golden Fruit that would grant divine power and circumvent the destruction of Earth at the roots of Helheim. But he needed proof. 

That was the real reason he kept ending up alone in Helheim, right up until Takatora came to find him. Every time.

Ryouma started laughing almost as soon as he stepped through the Crack. Takatora was right behind him, and then he turned to look back at the Crack as it began immediately to close. Almost as if it had been waiting for them. 

“I don’t recognize this part of Zawame.” Takatora said cautiously, raising an eyebrow at Ryouma’s low chuckles. 

“We’re not in Zawame anymore.” He pointed- through the small stand of trees the Crack had opened into. There was a road there, with cars driving on the right side of the road. 

“Where are we?” Takatora turned, looking somewhat horrified. Ryouma didn’t necessarily _like_ seeing that look on Takatora’s face, but it was still kind of amusing, all told. 

“I have a feeling we’re probably in America.” 

The expression that overtook Takatora’s face then was significantly more than just ‘slightly horrified’. He looked _entirely_ out of his depth. Ryouma didn’t like that, not at all. It wasn’t befitting of him, of his king, his god. So he smiled.

“Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”

“Ryouma.” Takatora said intently, grabbing Ryouma’s arm again and hauling him back before he could step out onto the road. “ _I can’t speak English_.”

“It’s _fine_.” Ryouma insisted again. “I’ll take care of it.”

“What do you mean, you’ll take care of it?” Now Takatora looked dubious. Not that Ryouma could blame him- Takatora didn’t necessarily know as much about him as he did about Takatora. Why should he? All he needed to know was that Ryouma was, even at their age, the head of the research and development department- the only man with answers, according to Takatora’s father. 

Ryouma patted Takatora’s shoulder companionably. “Exactly as I said. I used to study in Boston. I can get us home. Just trust me.”

-

Ryouma didn’t bother knocking. He didn’t announce himself. It would have lost some of the nuance of his anger and frustration if he’d bothered with all the appropriate niceties. He was socially inept, but he wasn’t socially _oblivious_. He wanted this to be surprising because Takatora deserved at the very least as much of a shock as Ryouma had gotten when the work order had arrived at his desk- or at least, when he’d read the damn thing, several days _after_ it arrived at his desk, since he’d been cloistered in his lab for sixty-two hours and hadn’t been down to his office at all in that time.

“Ryouma?” Takatora stood up when he entered. He didn’t look suitably started. Now Ryouma was even _more_ irritated.

“What the hell do you think this is?” Ryouma wasn’t shouting, he rarely shouted, it didn’t suit his voice terribly well. Tended to devolve into a primal sort of growl that didn’t lend him any legitimacy at all. Instead, when he got properly angry, his voice dropped into a steady, almost robotic register. 

“Ah. Left your lab at last, huh?” Takatora smiled, he obviously thought he was being placating. Ryouma wasn’t going to fall for it. He crossed the massive expanse of empty floor space between the door and Takatora’s desk, and threw the papers down on the dark wood surface. 

“I will not allow this. It is _my_ project, I am the ‘final hope for humanity’, according to you and your stupid idealistic statements. If that is the case, you owe me enough respect to honor my wishes in this situation- more specifically speaking, you will _stand down_. I will _not_ allow you to be the first test subject of the Driver.” 

Takatora sat back down, leaning back in his chair with a sigh. He let his head droop a bit, his chin nearly touching his chest. A pose of deep contemplation. “Ryouma, will you sit down?”

“I will _not_. Explain yourself.” Ryouma rubbed at his forehead briefly, then adjusted his glasses. He was too tired for this, and Takatora’s lack of response to his storming in was sapping him of any amount of adrenaline that had carried him up here. “In what galaxy or reality do you believe this is even remotely safe, sane, reasonable, or expected?”

Takatora lifted his head and fixed Ryouma with a steady stare. “It _is_ my responsibility. I am the head of Project Ark. I know you don’t like it, you’ve made that very clear, but it is my responsibility, and beyond that, it is my _choice_ , to be the first to test the Driver. It has to be done either way, but I will not let anyone _else_ put themselves in danger.”

“Then you admit that it’s dangerous?” 

Takatora smiled slightly, and the rest of Ryouma’s resolve trickled away. 

“That’s only because _you_ have told me that it might be.”

-

Ryouma wasn’t particularly startled. His doors were locked to anyone that didn’t have sufficient clearance, and he had long ago reprogrammed the locks’ concept of _sufficient_. Takatora was the only one who could enter Ryouma’s lab while Ryouma was working. So, while he hadn’t heard him come in, or had any warning, it was only Takatora, and Ryouma trusted him. 

He set his tools down and adjusted his glasses, mentally preparing himself for what Takatora might be doing here, especially with such an intriguing and mysterious opening line. 

That done, he turned to face Takatora with a slight smirk. “Reading what?” 

Takatora was holding two cups of… probably coffee, knowing Takatora’s opinions on Ryouma’s self-imposed work schedule. It was entirely possible that one of them was decaf, Takatora had recently taken to switching the strength and intensity of the coffee blends offered in the building, in an attempt to subtly influence Ryouma’s sleep patterns, or lack thereof. The fact that Ryouma was aware of these changes had slipped Takatora’s notice. 

Ryouma accepted the offered cup anyway. Coffee was coffee, and caffeinated or not made no real difference to whether or not Ryouma was done working for the day... or few days, as the case might be. 

“Your thesis.” 

“You’re going to have to be a bit more specific than that, Takatora.” Ryouma smirked around his coffee cup as he took a sip. “I’ve written eight theses and five of them have been reputably published- one of them in English, though I imagine you have no interest in _that_ topic.” 

Takatora chuckled warmly. He seemed remarkably at ease, considering the first test for the Sengoku Driver was scheduled to occur in five days. Ryouma had, unwillingly, been compelled to bow to Takatora’s authority, but he _had_ managed to do so only by securing an agreement that any expanded testing would be done on random test subjects unaffiliated with Yggdrasill. 

“I was referring one of the unpublished ones.” Takatora elaborated, sipping his own coffee slowly. “The one entitled _The Case for Mythical Creation_.” 

Ryouma lifted his cup, but he didn’t take another sip. He just let the steam fog his glasses somewhat. “What did you think?” He asked the question into the cup, then turned his back to Takatora, setting the cup aside and picking up his tools again. “Nevermind. It’s irrelevant. What matters is getting this,” He tapped the prototype with his pliers, “Up to working order and ready for the test in five days.”

“Don’t do that.” Takatora crossed behind him, then leaned against the lab table an arms reach from Ryouma. “You asked me a question, I’d like to answer it.”

“It’s a little late to take this responsibility away from me, Takatora.”

Takatora tilted his head, reaching over to grab Ryouma’s wrist, pulling his attention away from the prototype. “Why would I ever dream of doing that?”

“Because I’m clearly insane for believing in Intelligent Design.” He hesitated briefly, but looked up to meet Takatora’s eyes. Takatora was smiling gently, and for a moment Ryouma felt very warm. 

“Whatever your beliefs are is irrelevant. You are still the only man who can save us _now_.” Takatora moved his grip to pat Ryouma’s shoulder, then grip firmly. “ _That_ is all that matters.”

-

Ryouma wasn’t normally the type to pace, but that was outside of extraneous circumstances. _These_ were extraneous circumstances. And so, Ryouma was pacing.

This wasn’t right. It didn’t fit. It wasn’t the way it was supposed to go. Ryouma had thought all of it through, he had considered all of the possibilities. 

He’d dealt with too many setbacks. He’d tested and adjusted and tested again. He’d followed every bit of scientific method he had ever been taught, and some theories he’d developed entirely on his own. 

Geniuses are rarely equipped to deal with things differing from their expectations. Even if Ryouma had nothing else going for him, he _was_ a genius, and he was _incredibly_ incapable of remaining calm in the face of change, or deviations from his careful plans. 

It had become very apparent to Ryouma that he had been right all along. He’d known immediately upon meeting Takatora that he was _destined_ to become the god of the new world. The Fruit of Knowledge, the Golden Fruit, it could belong to no one _but_ Takatora. Ryouma would have gone to the ends of the earth to place that power in Takatora’s hands, he would have _died_ to usher in that new utopian reality. 

But Takatora hadn’t wanted it. Takatora believed only in Ryouma’s _ability_ , not himself. 

Takatora was more like his father than he would ever dare to admit. Possibly than he even knew. 

So Ryouma had tried to find another champion. Surely Takatora could not be _unique_. Surely there could be one other person in this doomed world who was worthy to lead. 

No, of course not. 

Ryouma slammed both hands down on his lab table, then indulged himself in a momentary fit by grabbing a file and flinging it onto the floor. It was almost laughably coincidental that it happened to be the one containing the documents detailing each of the prototype Driver users. All of his failed hopes. Every one of them a dead end. There had only ever been one option. 

He’d tried to convince himself there was any other possibilities, but he’d been wrong. He had needed Takatora to believe in him. He’d done everything he could to make his point, down to staging a coup and inventing an attempt on Takatora’s life. Of course he would survive- he had to. And leaving Takatora to the mercy of Helheim would prove his point better than Ryouma himself ever could. 

That too had gone wrong. Sid had been out of control. He’d staged a coup of his own, resulting in the closure of the sustained Crack, the destruction of so many experimental Lockseeds and Lockvehicles. Ryouma had nearly given up hope then. How was he supposed to then find, rescue, and raise Takatora without perpetual access to Helheim, when his only options were the incredibly unpredictable lab rat children? 

Even attempting to manipulate Mitsuzane had fallen by the wayside- he’d been corrupted instead by that damned Overlord. And then the little bastard had done the _truly_ unforgivable, and _killed Takatora_. 

This was ridiculous. Ryouma slumped down into his chair, and stared out the dark and filthy window. Zawame was a disaster. It was fully and entirely his fault. He’d caused every bit of mayhem, all in the name of raising his chosen ruler. 

But he had one option left. The dominion offered by the Fruit of Knowledge. The power of a god. The ability to create life… And most likely to return life to the departed. 

Ryouma smiled grimly, tugging absently on the length of his fringe. 

After all, there was no point in saving the world if Takatora wasn’t going to be there to rule.


End file.
